


Not Everything Was Better in the Past

by brokenmemento



Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/F, Road Trips, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 15:19:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15099494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenmemento/pseuds/brokenmemento
Summary: Prompt fic: Grace and Frankie take a trip and learn a little about themselves in the process.





	Not Everything Was Better in the Past

**Author's Note:**

  * For [negativeoedipus](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=negativeoedipus).



> *I did some research and I liked aspects of several retreat options, but not the whole experience as it pertained to where I wanted to go with the story. What I ended up doing is a broad description of the Rancho Cicada retreat in Northern California for ambiance 
> 
> ** To negativeoedipus, I hope that you enjoy what I have managed to do with your concept. I apologize that it took so long to write but I kept thinking of more and more to add. This was the end result.

She’s not afraid of dying, never has been. And before the split from Robert, she just accepted that life was the way it was. You played a role, regardless. People grow up to be girlfriends, partners, lovers, mothers. So it’s only natural for her to have played those parts because that’s the purpose of life.

But when it boils down to it, it isn’t so much. Not anymore. Not since Frankie, who has taught her that life is more than prespecified pieces. It’s more than doing what you have to do. Watching Frankie, not only before the implosion of their marriages but after too, has taught Grace that playing it safe isn’t really playing at all.

How much has she missed before drinking peyote, smoking doobies, late night Del Taco runs, sleeping next to a warm body who actually wants to be near her? It’s a delicious present in the present and a serious waste of what could have happened in the past. Just thinking of it all makes Grace weary, ages her more than she wants. It’s a heavy load she’s allowed herself to carry for most of her life.

Saying that her eyes are open at seventy-three, that she feels like she’s been born again and has taken on a second wind probably holds elements of the ridiculous. The end of a life isn’t supposed to feel like starting over and wanting desperately to milk it for everything it’s got left.

“I want to do something,” she spits out one night over a Pinot Grigio and a piece of baked chicken, vision blurring a little at the mundaneness of it all.

Frankie looks up from her own meal and squints, confused. “You mean, like a Say Yes night?”

Grace can already feel her head start moving, shaking it. “By my standards two years ago, our Say Yes night was fairly bizarre. I’d never danced on a bar before.” She can’t help but smile at the memory of it all, but that is soon erased by other thoughts bombarding. “No, I want something crazy, out there. I want to grab life and make the most of it.”

“So, grabbing life by the balls. Okay, I can work with this. Like jumping out of a plane grabbing life by the balls or drinking four martinis instead of three on a Tuesday night kind of grabbing?”

Grace shoots her a grumpy look, not much enjoying the jab. Frankie laughs and holds up a conciliatory gesture with her hands. “Alright, alright. Wild and crazy shit. Hmm, what would Grace Hanson find wild and crazy…”

“Says the person who has been practically doing off the wall stuff her entire life. Surely you have something we can experience together.”

Frankie’s lips quirk ever so slightly and she opens her mouth to say something but then stops, apparently thinking better of it. Grace can see the mental cogs turning and Frankie narrows her eyes a bit as the thoughts tumble.

“Give me some time to do a little brainstorming and research. I’ll find something that brings the excitement,” Frankie smiles. “When’s my homework due, boss?”

“Whenever you have the idea, Frankie.”

“You won’t be disappointed. I promise. We're going to find something that will knock our socks off.”

Things shouldn’t feel so stagnant as to want Frankie to not only knock her socks off but to completely knock it out of the peg it’s been stuck in for most of her life. She can’t even begin to think of what it will feel like to be hit completely loose.

******************

Days pass and Grace isn’t even sure Frankie remembers the idea. It feels like she’s choking though, strangling in her own life. It’s the commonplace and routine that grate and wear. These are the thoughts that she’s tossing around inside of when the brochure slides across the counter.

Grace looks up to see Frankie watching expectantly, gnawing on a piece of toast with jelly. Looking down, she sees a smear of the preserves on the paper and holds it up to show Frankie the messiness she creates.

“You know, since everyone is gonna be so jelly once we get back from this.” Frankie stops, seems to mull the successfulness of her own pun, then waves it off. “What I’m getting at is that this is gonna be just what you need to jumpstart that flatlining life of yours.”

On the front of the brochure is a collage of pictures, ranging from cabins tucked near a beautiful flowing river to walking paths and hot tubs. Green grass is abundant and giant shade trees dot the skyline of the Retreat.

“I’ve heard that the best time to go is coming up soon! They’re doing an empowering women weekend getaway with a focus on the importance of the female relationship. How cool is that? We could go and be with our sisters, celebrate what makes us badass friends and females.”

“Okay, doesn’t really seem like a balls to the wall kind of plan, but getting away from La Jolla for a few days might not be a bad thing. Where is it at?” Grace asks, interest piqued at the idea of some relaxation. Even if it is with Frankie.

“Eh, this is the part that you might not enjoy. It’s a little north of San Francisco.”

“San Francisco?! That’s over a seven hour drive!” She’s already tired thinking about it.

“Did I mention it’s near wine country?” Frankie tosses out with a waggle of her eyebrows.

“Sold,” Grace all but interrupts.

“Woo hoo! Oh, I know you’re going to love it. I’ve been reading _Gender Outlaw_ by Kate Bornstein and _Men Explain Things to Me_ by Rebecca Solnit. I’m really thinking with my recently added pound of knowledge, this retreat could be transformative for me,” Frankie excitedly explains. “I’ve been on the forefront of the women’s movement since the sixties!”

“Oh, trust me. I vividly remember you outside of Say Grace not long after we met, tossing my product line at the side of the building, holding up a sign saying “My body needs to live free” with a bra burning in a trash can,” Grace rolls her eyes. “Which you took too literally.”

“How was I supposed to know it was a metaphorical statement at the time? I just went with the theme,” Frankie frowns.

“And for the second time in as many months, I was subjected to staring at your breasts because you so freely shared with everyone back then.”

“Nothing that you don’t have yourself,” Frankie shakes her head. “Are you afraid of the female body, Grace?”

Grace responds to the words by making a face. Why would she be afraid of femininity? She’s practically ensconced her life in it for as long as she can remember. From a line that was meant to enhance and feature the delicate beauty of her gender to vibrators geared toward the older female demographic, she’s put her money where her mouth is. She’s built empires for the benefit of women everywhere.

“I’m going to ignore that, considering the background I have professionally.”

Suddenly, Frankie is beside her, a little too fucking close. Space is a foreign thing now and Grace can all but feel her own body rejecting reasonable action like a magnetic pull is dragging her into Frankie’s orbit. Like it wants to be there instead of drifting away like always.

“Come on. Let’s get out of town a few days, enjoy the northern California air. Maybe you’ll hate it. But what if you don’t? What if the atmosphere manages to dislodge that stick up your ass?” she laughs and then walks away from Grace, who stands reeling from the presence of proximity existing and then fading.

“I assure you, I don’t have a stick up my ass. Or anything else for that matter,” Grace murmurs.  

“So pack a bag, or six. Whatever you need for five days of feminist laden, down with the patriarchy, loving your sisters, fun.”

“Reminding you that I’m going for the atmosphere. And the booze,” Grace says, holding up a finger. She’d tie a ribbon around it if it’d help Frankie remember she absolutely wants to spend the bulk of the five days in some state of inebriation. Figures it will take as much for her to enjoy this little retreat Frankie has found for them.

Frankie nods and sends Grace the biggest smile ever. “This is going to be a weekend you never forget.”

As Frankie walks out of the room, Grace can’t help but wonder what she’s gotten herself in to.

***********************

“Why do I always end up schlepping your bags whenever we manage to leave the house for longer than a day?” Grace fusses, managing to fling Frankie’s luggage into the trunk of the car. It was surprisingly heavier than she imagined, pegging Frankie for being a lighter packer.

“I had to make sure I’m bringing all of the necessities,” Frankie responds, opening the door and throwing her beaded suede purse into the passenger side seat.

“Your secret weed box and seven variations of a Rasta beanie aren’t essential.”

“You never know when a spoken word/beat poetry session will commence.”

“I thought you said this retreat was for relaxing and getting in touch with our femininity and power as women! I know you didn’t sign me up for some hippie, tree hugging, one notch down from Burning Man, getaway.”

“Oh, come on, Grace. I’d never take you to Burning Man. Again.” Her lips twitch in an expression Grace can’t quite peg. Maybe guilt over bringing up that whole ordeal, which she had made Frankie promise she’d never utter a word about.

“I’m going to spend my week lounging around, taking a nice walk by the river, and keeping a cold drink in my hand,” Grace tells her, her tone dreamy as she thinks of letting herself not worry about her offspring, the business, anything. She puts her own luggage beside Frankie’s and closes the trunk. “Now, let's get this show on the road.”

“Oh, I can’t wait! I’ve got some bomb ass MP3’s of my throat singing group. We’ve really come a long way lately,” Frankie says excitedly.

“I’d hate to start out the trip by stabbing out my own eardrums. Sets the wrong kind of tone,” Grace says, face bunching up in a mocking frown.

“Oh, haha,” Frankie fake laughs and slides into the seat. Grace gets behind the wheel and puts the keys in the ignition. “You have until Escondido to enjoy the absence of my voice. Then I’m chiming in with car games to keep us occupied.”

Grace starts the car and backs out of the driveway. She thinks that whatever ideas Frankie has for passing seven hours can’t be completely terrible. They’ll have to stop a few times to browse roadside store fare. That alone should shift focus.

The traffic isn’t too bad on the Parkway and out on 52, so the forty minutes pass rather quickly. As soon as they reach the city limits, Frankie turns to her and stares Grace down.

“I’m _not_ stopping. We just got on the road. You should have gone to the restroom before we left home,” Grace warns.

“We’re in Escondido. I’ve given you your thirty miles of silence. It’s time for a famous Frankie road trip game.”

Grace lets out an exasperated sigh. “Can’t we do without? Why can’t we just have a normal conversation and talk when we feel the need. Not just to fill the air with sound.”

“I tried to fill it with my throat singing group but you vetoed that. It’s you and me and this car for the next seven hours. We might as well make the most of our time together. I’ll start. I’ve got an object in my mind, yes. I can clearly see it, like a painting. Alright, ask me questions. Go.”

“Can I use my hands to choke it with?” Grace grumbles, see a road sign signaling Temecula and the milage. She can’t help but groan at the number of miles she reads.

“No, Grace. The object isn’t me. Although I see what you did there.”

“Has it ever, at any time, held pot in it?” Grace asks. She can’t believe she’s playing this game. Can’t believe she’s indulging Frankie.

“Hah, good one. But no. That’s two.”

“Is it something you use?”

“Yes! Three,” Frankie says excitedly.

“Is it something you use frequently?” Grace continues. She’s thinking of the supplies Frankie goes shopping for almost every other week for her artwork. Brushes, paint, cleaning solutions for the dried acrylic on wood and horsehair.

Frankie gets quiet, squirms a little in her seat, and inhales shakily. It’s like she’s trying to decide on whether or not to answer the question when the question requires a simplistic response.

“Yes,” she finally lets out. Grace glances over to see Frankie staring out the window, not looking at her anymore.

“You’re the one who wanted to play this game. Why are you acting weird?”

“Maybe I should have thought my object through a little more.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Frankie turns toward Grace again, finally, eyebrows knitted together.

Whoa.

Grace gets it now, totally and completely.

“If you continue with this line of inquiry, things might get awkward.”

Grace knows what the object is, doesn’t need a fourth question. “I don’t know why. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” A scathing lie. She’s going to keep asking Frankie questions, keep pressing on because she doesn’t want to ever play this stupid game again and for some other, darker reasons too.

“So then keep on. I think you’re on question five now.”

“Okay, So to recap,” Grace licks her lips, feeling tension spike in her body. “I can’t choke you with it. You don’t store your pot in it. And you use it frequently.”

Frankie nods jerkily, then spins her finger around in a circle, signaling. _Keep going._

She should probably describe the item, physical features and whatnot. The questions are beating in her brain, knowingly.

“Does this thing make you feel good?” Nope, not the right question at all. Frankie sucks in a breath like she’s just been punched in the stomach. When she responds, the tone is laced with a charge.

“Very,” is said with a hint of reverence. Now it’s Grace’s turn to suck in air and her knuckles go white on the steering wheel. Freaking hell. As if noticing she hasn’t answered with the prerequisite ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ Frankie quickly tacks on “Yes. Six.”

“Do you use it in your studio?” This is getting to be madness. Grace knows absolutely she shouldn’t be asking these types of things but curiosity has welled up and something else utterly surprising. The idea of it reverberates lower. It scares her half to death but she can’t stop now. She’s already in too deep.

“I have a lot, yes.” Frankie stops and looks thoughtful. “Seven.” Grace gulps, her brain on overdrive. A lot, but not all of the time. That means…

“Have you used it in the main house?”

“Yes,” whispered. “Eight.”

“In the living room?”

“Yes, but…” Frankie starts, then stops.

That damn qualifier. It’s a dangerous one.

“In an area that was mine?”

“Grace…”

“Which room?” She doesn’t even notice that she’s strayed away from the format of the game. That it’s not really a game anymore anyway. It’s her digging into something deeply private, but that Frankie offered, even if by accident.

“You remember when I clogged my tub with paint globs because I’d tried an abstract body painting technique that was more fun to do than look at?”

Grace remembers it well. How she’d spent hours scouring footprints off of the floor and had to make Frankie throw her clothes outside to use the water hose on, despite the drought.

“I remember,” Grace says, mind backtracking to her coming through the back door in a towel only, paint running down her body in rivulets and turning her skin into a watercolor. To Frankie in her room. To Frankie singing while she got the remainder of the paint off of herself. She’d stood at the door and  divyed our rules, having to practically yell to get Frankie to hear her through the wood and ruckus she was making on the other side.

“Maybe…” Frankie trails off again.

“But I heard you,” Grace cuts in. Frankie’s eyes go wide and the panic rises in Grace. Oh no. Not that. “No, no. I didn’t mean I heard you…” she gestures to wave off the idea. “I heard you singing.”

“Yeah, well. I may have changed my tune not long after that.”

Grace squeezes the steering wheel tightly again, the image already lodging itself in her brain. Of Frankie in the towel again and in her shower, doing that to herself.

“But how? I was at the door. I was telling you to not leave a mess.” She’s flabbergasted as to how Frankie could have done it without her knowledge.

“We own a vibrator company, Grace. It’s not like I only have one. They’re practically everywhere,” Frankie points out.

“Oh, God,” she croaks. A road sign announces Riverside, thankfully.

“I’ve got to get out of this car,” Frankie practically groans, extends her finger to point toward a convenience store a short distance ahead.

They pull into the parking space in front. The second she puts it into park, Frankie has thrown the door open. “Getting snacks!” she yells and slams the door.

Grace throws her head into the vinyl in front of her, lets go of a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Inside of her mind, Frankie’s admission is a glowing ember. A thing wanting to be remembered.

********************

The rest of the drive is done in relative silence, with the exception of a few stops along the way for more snacks and stretching their legs.

Her back and knees protest heavily by the time they reach Fresno, and she’s cursing Frankie. If she would have never agreed to go her alternate route, wanting to avoid Los Angeles, they would be thirty minutes closer to their destination.

She’s leaning back, pressing her hands into her aching muscles when Frankie comes to stand beside her. It startles her because she saw her disappear into the store only moments ago. A Trader’s Joe’s bag is draped over her arm and she stares out across horizon, roads, and buildings piling up all around. The cars create a din around them, so much so Grace almost misses Frankie’s words.

“Are we okay?”

Turning to her, Grace makes a face. “Of course we are. Why wouldn’t we be?” It’s a question she doesn’t know if she wants to be answered.

“I mean, earlier. In the car. Things kind of got weird. And I never got a turn to ask you 20 questions.”

She wants to say, _No, because you picked your vibrator first rattle out of the bag and admitted to using it everywhere with frequency, even my bathroom. That tends to derail any further conversations._

“It’s fine. As I’ve said before-I’ve learned to live with a very flexible definition of okay.”

Frankie laughs at this and Grace nudges her with her shoulder. It feels a little more like the normal dynamic they have with each other.

Miles later, gently sloping hills rise on both sides of the car, trees flanking their journey as they drive down a rustic road. Grace sees a sign on a fence signaling the retreat ahead and she can almost feel her legs stretching to relieve some of the tension. A ten hour car ride isn’t exactly how she wanted to spend the day, but if this is anything like Frankie’s built it up to be, it’ll be worth it.

They pull up to the main area where they are to get their keys. It’s dusk and when they exit the car, night sounds buzz all around them. The air smells fresh and as Grace looks upward, several stars are beginning to dot the canopy of the earth. The surroundings are remote enough to feel far removed from city life.

Checking them in, Grace gets the keys and finds their cabin. She gets all of their luggage in, because not surprisingly, it’s only her doing it while Frankie makes observations about every facet of the area.

The cabin itself is quaint and she would even go so far as to say cozy. The paneling is all wood, reflecting the ambiance of the retreat itself. Quilts sit atop each of the beds in their respective rooms and a rock fireplace is centered on the wall.

Not even bothering to unpack, Grace falls into the bed. She sinks into the softness, her body hissing with relief. Until she feels the bed dip violently again and opens her eyes that have drifted shut to see Frankie lying beside her, hands folded across her chest.

“So this is nice,” Frankie offers.

“Absolutely not,” Grace cuts her off, rising to prop herself on an elbow. “We just spent ten hours in a car together and you have your own room.”

“Oh, knock it off. I’m not staying. I was just going to tell you to decompress. Take a shower, come back and lie down to read a book, catch some early shut-eye. I may or may not go exploring. You know, just to see what I can get myself into.”

“Oh, sharing the nocturnal habits of a raccoon I see. Good luck,” Grace sighs and flops back into the mattress. “Don’t get into any garbage cans. As for me, I may do exactly what you suggested.”

“In case you change your mind, the river isn’t far from here. We could get a bit of exercise and take a night walk if you’re up to it. The weather is perfect for it.”

“While that sounds like a nice idea, I’m going to rain check that for another night. You have fun.”

“Alright. Suit yourself.” With that, Frankie rises and tosses Grace a small wave.

She isn't sure how long she stays immobile after Frankie says her goodbye. Grace has to make herself move off of the bed and tiredly strips her clothes off, turning the knob on the shower. Hot water sprays out and when she steps in, the steam and heat hit her body in all the right places. She emerges feeling much better, although not completely refreshed. Her phone clock reads 10:01 and she throws back the quilt on the bed, burrowing underneath despite the mild weather and listening to the soft hum of the river somewhere close by.

The next coherent thing she is aware of is Frankie shaking her awake fully, impatience in her body movements and voice.

“You’re sleeping the day away. Come on! I scheduled us for a nice couples massage at 10,” Frankie says, shoving Grace a little.

While she’d like to comment on the irony of Frankie being the one to bring it up about wasting hours by sleeping, the idea of getting the tightness and tension pressed and pulled right out of her body seems like a beautiful plan. One that seems worth getting up for.

They walk to the small building where the masseuse is, a younger fellow in his mid-thirties probably with wispy brown hair and a kind smile. He shakes each of their hands and explains a little about his qualifications and background. When he’s finished, he clasps his hands together and smiles.

“Okay, ladies. I’m just going to step out. You can disrobe and lay your clothing on the chairs beside your tables. My partner, Jason, is going to be assisting on this so make sure you remove everything and cover yourself with the sheets provided.” With that, he turns and eases the door closed gently.

While Grace has had massages several times, she’s never had one with another person in the room. Looking over at Frankie, she can’t help but feel somewhat modest. Frankie, on the other hand, is already removing her top shirt to reveal another, less heavy shirt underneath. At this rate, she will be peeling layers off until Grace is finished with her own massage.

Of course, Frankie isn’t a prude. She’s fine with undressing in front of whomever. Grace most certainly is not though.

“Can you...turn around or something?” Grace questions, motioning for Frankie to spin toward the door with one hand while the other rests on the buttons of her shirt, waiting.

“Uh, you’re kidding, right? Frankie laughs. “You’re about to be on a table next to me with nothing on.”

“Just turn around and I’ll do the same,” Grace scolds and begins to work at her buttons.

“Not that I care, but suit yourself,” Frankie shrugs.

With a glance over her shoulder, she removes her shirt. When it comes time for the bra, her hands shake a little and she hopes that Frankie has held up her end of the deal, still turned around. To check, she turns in time to see the expanse of Frankie back bare. For her age, it’s incredibly smooth and betrays her number of years.

Feeling flustered, Grace grabs her sheet and covers her chest, using the other hand to undo her pants and get rid of her undergarments. She can hear Frankie shuffling behind her and when everything is removed, she turns to see Frankie finishing up as the towel wraps around her body.

They both climb onto the tables simultaneously, Grace very cognizant of every sliver of skin she is showing. Bare backs and shoulders aren’t a big deal but when Frankie lays down stomach side on the table, Grace can just make out the soft swell of her breasts. The sheet covers her backside but reveals an expanse of her leg than mostly stays hidden under billowy pants.

It’s surprising somewhat, to see Frankie stipped down like this and not hidden under a pile of clothing. Frankie looks over in her direction and that’s when Grace realizes she’s staring.

“See something you like?” Frankie asks with a flutter of her eyelashes.

It’s another fucking joke but one Grace doesn’t find funny, merely because it’s a response to an action that was being done out of awareness.

“I’m sorry,” Grace mutters, resting her head on her forearms under her.

“Anytime you want to see more, just ask,” is said in a tone polar opposite though and Grace moves her head so fast, she almost gives herself whiplash.

“What?” It barely skitters out of Grace’s mouth before there is a knock and the men enter, taking their place by the tables. The masseuse whose name they never got punches the button on a CD player that starts a soft music to fill the room.

She wants to ask Frankie about the comments, confront her about the things she says. To do that would be to admit she takes them at face value though when they’re probably meant to be internalized as less. The men are working on their bodies though so Grace tries to relax, tries to let the tension go with every swipe of the skilled hand as it rubs and pushes her muscles, tendons, and skin.

The hour goes by quickly once she lets her mind go blank. Before she knows it, she’s being gently shaken awake by Frankie, their masseuses already out the door.

“I hate to do be the one to do it, but we need to vamos. We only had sixty minutes,” Frankie says, a sad tinge in her voice.

Grace raises on her arms a little, still bleary-eyed from dozing off. The drive must have destroyed her energy because sleeping late and then face planting on the table wasn’t the ways she imagined starting this life altering trip, as Frankie had put it.

Shaking her head and rubbing her hand over her face, it dawns on her that she is still naked underneath the sheet. Frankie stands in front of her, tapping a foot and looking at the ceiling. She must have gotten dressed while Grace was asleep.

“What are you doing?” Grace says, listening to the rhythmic _tap, tap, tap._

“I’m being the equivalent of a gentleman by not looking at you in a state of undress,” Frankie mocks a little, then brings her gaze to Grace’s eyes. “Because Heaven forbid I might see something. You know, if there is a Heaven.”

“You’re Jewish, for Christ sakes. Isn’t that a part of the doctrine?” Grace grumbles, sitting up and pulling the sheet to her body. She stands and makes her way over to the discarded clothing in the chair.

“It’s probably frowned upon that I also recognize several other deities, such as Frig and Odin, Brahman, Waheguru, Jah…”

“As fascinating as it would be for you to list the Bigs of every world religion, maybe we should go back to the cabin and figure out how we want to spend the rest of the day,” Grace interrupts, then motions to herself. “You know, clothed.”

“Hmm, that could be fun too. The not clothed part,” Frankie offers with a shrug.

“For one second, just be serious. Now give me a minute and I’ll be back in working order,” Grace scolds and then points at the door, signaling Frankie to leave.

“Such a goody two shoes,” is mumbled as Grace watches Frankie exit. She tries not to let it grate inside of her.

********************

Her feet ache, everything fucking aches, and she doesn’t much feel like entertaining the idea of a meal or ever moving again really. All but collapsing into the hammock on the back porch of the cabin, she can hear the rushing of the river and the crickets coming out to start their nightly songs. It’s slightly humid but a cool breeze floats, ruffles the strands of her hair and takes her body temperature down a bit.

She should have never agreed to hike, knew better to even conceive of it. After the relaxing massage, an expedition down the water’s edge should have been vehemently protested against. Frankie had all but insisted though, stating that communing with nature would reset their chi and casually mentioning a place that served drinks down the river a pace.

Grace’s chi never got reset and the vodka martini she could practically taste eluded her as well. They’d meandered all over the property, Frankie leading her on the worst game of hide and go seek while she kept talking to trees and at one point, laid down in a patch of wildflowers.

Her eyes are closed but she can still make out the tale-tell shuffle of Frankie’s feet nearby. Opening one eye to peek out of, she sees Frankie standing in the doorway, just watching.

“Feeling relaxed?” she questions and Grace wants to strangle her on the spot.

“No. All I feel is old and tired and grumpy because I’m covered in a layer of dirt and sweat since ‘Nature is rad’.” She shoots daggers at her but Frankie has always been good at dodging. She shakes off the comment and look, shuffling over to stand beside Grace.

“It’s because your technique is all wrong. Scoot over,” Frankie motions, no doubt trying to figure out how to get in.

“I most certainly will not! You’ve been trapped in an elevator with me. You know I like my space.”

“Give me ten minutes and I bet you will be a puddle of relaxed goop.”

“And what happens if I’m not?”

Frankie tilts her head, gives Grace a questioning look. “I doubt that will happen but in the event that it does, you pick. Subject me to the most unrelaxing thing you know of.”

“You get to fold every fitted sheet we own when we get home,” Grace says, closing her eyes and draping her hands across her chest.

“I told you that you were a witch,” Frankie grumbles. “But whatever. I’m confident in my abilities because, believe it or not, I also happen to be an amateur pleasure coach.” And just like that, she’s shoving herself into Grace, flopping like a fish as she struggles to get into the hammock. “Oh, what deuce…”

Grace tries to maneuver to accompany the shrinking area. Both shift and rearrange until there really is no way for both of them to lay except on their sides, either spooning or facing one another. Grace thinks face to face is probably the safer option. Until she’s doing it. Her length is a bit longer than Frankie’s so she’s slightly above her. It still doesn’t do much to dissolve the tension she feels throughout her body, with Frankie being pressed against her.

“You ready?” Frankie asks, and it feels like an entirely different question altogether. Her hand has come to rest on Grace’s side and it’s tracing lazy lines up and down. This feels like the opposite of relaxation, Grace’s senses so sharp as to detect every minute detail of this moment. She had wanted to argue with Frankie, object to her “pleasure coach” title by saying something along the lines of _it hasn’t been such a pleasure living with you over the past two and a half years_ or _you’re past the point of being an amateur pain in my ass_ , but the words never fall out, maybe forever lost within her as Frankie scoots closer. If that’s even possible.

“I’m...ready,” is what she manages instead.

“This is going to sound weird, coming from me, but you need to loosen your clothing a bit. Maybe let a few of those buttons come undone, get rid of your sneakers,” Frankie explains, tapping Grace’s shoulder to avoid where the buttons actually are.

“I’m not taking off my blouse!” Grace exclaims.

“I didn’t say take it off. I said loosen it. How are you going to relax when you are all trussed up? Also, shoes.”

This will be over a lot more quickly if she acquiesces, so she does. Using her toes, she maneuvers first one shoe off and then the other, letting it drop to the side of the hammock with a thud. The buttons on her shirt are part of a weightier request, one she doesn’t quite know how to fulfill.

“Uh, how many?” she hears herself asking, a strain to her tone. If Frankie picks up on it, she doesn’t let on.

“As many as it takes for you to feel comfortable.”

 _None of them_ , Grace wants to say. _None of them because this is getting awkward_ . Unless she wants to be stuck with the task of folding all of the fitted sheets for the rest of her life, she figures she needs to let go a little of whatever is holding her back. Her fingers delicately touch the top button of her shirt, a bit hesitant. It’s then that she catches Frankie’s eye, the look upon her face more serene than it should be for what she’s asking. The top button gives way, revealing only tiny strip of skin. _One_ . She begins to count, three seeming like an astronomical number. _Two_ . Another undone, revealing more. _Three_. Before it was only the pale skin of her neck on display but now she can see the curve of her breasts, the indentation between, and she wants to retreat, take away one from three.

Frankie’s breath hitches and while Grace would like to be startled, she notices her own breathing labored. This goes against everything she said and did earlier in the day, then so hellbent on Frankie not seeing her. The idea, the insinuation of Frankie’s words are clawing though and Grace has dwelled on them for longer than she probably should.

Maybe that’s why, boldly, irrationally, she lets go of the fourth and instantly looks up to see a clouded expression on Frankie’s face. The fabric of her tan bra peeks out, reminding, and the mere sight of it is working her up in other parts of her own body. The fight or flight responses kick in, a space not so close to Frankie’s body a safer place.

“Uh, okay. That’s, that’s good,” Frankie says, clearing her throat. “Let’s work on your breathing. In and out slowly.”

The feat is easier said than done, but she tries. God, does she try. Tries to focus her energy into the inhalation and exhale of air, to channeling it into the movements of her feet as Frankie gives out directions in a quiet and steady tone. The target areas change, traveling higher as the list is checked off. Hips, stomach, chest, back. When the list ends on neck and shoulders, Grace is feeling a surprising sense of tranquility.

During the exercise, she’d had her eyes mostly closed. It was easier to not think about the way her thighs were pressed against Frankie’s, how Frankie’s hand remained stationary on her side, the way their shoulders touched, how every so often she could feel a bit of oxygen escaping Frankie to become carbon dioxide.

Opening her eyes again, she meets the blue of Frankie’s.

“Grace…” Frankie sighs. The singular wording of her name a sentence on its own, a statement and a question wrapped together. Grace watches as Frankie glances down to where the shirt sits agape. She shakes her head and asks, “So am I doing annoying laundry for the rest of my days?”

“This was a borderline experience, but I’ll sway to your side this once,” Grace gives in. She doesn’t want to explain why it toed the line, doesn’t want Frankie to ask.

Frankie sighs in relief and, for a woman of her age,  rolls out of the hammock quicker than should be possible. Wobbling to gain her equilibrium, Grace tries to avoid being bucked out as Frankie stands up and clasps her hands, rubbing them together with vigor.

“Now that you’re relaxed, I can tell you what I signed us up for,” Frankie grins.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Grace wails. “I’m tired, Frankie. I just want to shower and fall into bed.”

“It’s a power hour that focuses on communication between partners. I figured that it could help us maybe come up with some new ideas for Vybrant.”

“We communicate just fine. You send me emails about your daily routine, hair-brained ideas for the company, and texts when your yogurt shop is out of your organic rice dream flavor,” Grace scoffs at the idea.

“You told me you wanted to get out, do something. Humor me here.” She raises her hands in a pleading gesture and Grace supposes it won’t hurt. It’s only an hour. Then she can come back to the cabin and collapse.

“Fine. But don’t expect me to sing kumbaya or dance around a fire in the moonlight or anything.”

“Scout’s honor. This will be great for us! I just know it. Power to the people!” Frankie says, raising a revolutionary fist.

“Woo hoo,” Grace mimics, but with little vigor.

Frankie disappears into the house with a little skip in her step. Grace gazes down, sees herself undone. She follows behind, working her fingers to resituate what she’s so brashly displayed. She’d take time to think about what it means if it didn’t scare her half to death.

***************

In the grand scheme of things, the “power hour” isn’t the worst thing she’s ever had to do with Frankie, but it also isn’t the best either. The fire around them crackles and a jolt of smoke hits Grace in the lungs. She lets out a raucous cough and Frankie pats her knee, which screams along with every other fiber in her body as they sit atop a blanket draped over a log.

“Alright, ladies,” a rather chipper young woman with a bob announces. “I’m Shelly and I’ll be leading you on your journey through our Power Hour Program: Connecting With Your Partner on An Intimate Level.”

Panic pegs Grace square in the chest and she whips around to face Frankie. “What the _fuck_?” she stage whispers, rather loudly. Frankie grits her teeth with a questionable eyebrow raise, confusion spreading across her face.

“Is there a problem, ladies?” Shelly asks.

Grace laughs nervously, unsure of what to say or do. Strangling Frankie in front of sixteen witnesses is probably not the best solution to this situation, so she plasters her best charm smile on. “I mean, this is a workshop for business partners, correct?”

Shelly smiles warmly. “I mean, I suppose it could work for business partners. A few of our couples here met through job related instances.”

As Grace scans the crowd, she tries desperately to swallow the lump in her throat. People of all shapes, sizes, backgrounds. All of them looking happy and completely fucking in love with the person they’re sitting beside. Not one of them a man. Frankie grabs her hand that had been death gripping the log and she jerks it away.

“Most of the ladies here have been on our retreat for a few years now. I’m unfamiliar with the two of you. Why don’t you share your life narrative with us,” Shelly all but exclaims. “Tell us. How did the two of you become partners?”

Cotton, stitching. The collapsing of her trachea. All of it a more believable reason for why her vocal chords have severed and she can’t speak. _They’re lesbians. All of them,_ Grace thinks. _We’re on a gay and lesbian retreat._ How had she not noticed this on their hike? Granted they had been in a rather remote area by the end of the journey, but how had she not noticed the complete lack of men, other than workers? Hyperventilation almost begins until Frankie speaks, slicing the silence. Her arm weaves into Grace’s, hooked with her elbow.

“Well, this one here and I have known each other for over forty years. Believe it or not, our husbands actually left us for each other and then we moved into the beach house we all bought as a business investment. Well, it certainly got me into _her_ business,” Frankie faux titters and Grace absolutely knows she’s going to jail before the end of the night.

A few laughs join Frankie’s, who continues weaving a, for the most part, truthful tale. “Anyway, we didn’t get on very well to begin with but then we went through some deep shit together, the passing of one of our dear friends. It sort of brought us together. She was also one of my biggest supporters at an art show recently. The night was a damn mess and I couldn’t have made it through without her.” Frankie turns to her and smiles genuinely, all joking aside. She puts her arm around Grace’s shoulders and squeezes. “You mean a lot to me. More than you know.”

Grace can’t help it. Her mouth falls open at the story. The group looks like they’ve taken the bait, heard some grandiose love story between two old septuagenarians who found each other late in life. _But I’m not gay,_ Grace wants to whisper. _We’re just roommates._

“What a lovely story. Thank you for sharing. Now find yourselves a little space of earth to make yours and we will begin our connection exercise,” Shelly says, gesturing all around the campfire.

Grace feels herself being yanked off the log as Frankie drags her over to the side of the group, a blanket tucked under her other arm that isn’t being used to lead her away. It floats to the ground and Frankie sits crisscrossed, pulls Grace to join her.

“I’m going to kill you!” Grace hisses.

“I didn’t know this was a lesbian retreat weekend! I swear!”

“Didn’t you read the damn brochure? Now all those women think we’re together!”

“I may or may not have misplaced my glasses when I ran across the brochure. But that’s beside the point! None of those women care about us being together. They’re all happy and gay and happy gay.”

“Way to go, Frances. As if this couldn’t get any more awkward and worse.”

“Alright, ladies. I want you to grab a hold of your partner's hands, look into their eyes, and tell them the thing you love most about them,” Shelly announces.

Frankie rolls her shoulders, sits up a little, and places Grace’s hands in hers.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Grace asks dryly.

“Participating, duh. Hmm, let’s see. I love that you always keep kale in the fridge even after the expiration date because you know it lasts for several days after the suggested time. I love how you act like you aren’t listening to my ideas for Vybrant but you totally let me do a mockup of a vibe for anal play. What else?”

“I’ll do anything at all to get you to stop talking, please,” Grace pleads, bringing her hands together like a prayer.

“When you’ve shared your truths, make sure to end the exercise with a kiss letting your partner know they’ve been heard, they’re taken seriously, and cherished,” Shelly says as she leads them through the steps of the connection exercise.

Grace’s eyes go wide. She can’t do this, she can’t.

“They’re like bloodhounds, Grace. Go with the flow unless you want them to sniff us out and be lambasted for being impersonators,” Frankie says, voice hushed. “Go on, tell me what you love about me.”

“I love that I won’t have to find a place for your body when I murder you because we are already in an area filled with trees and remote wilderness,” Grace snarls, rage dripping from every word.

“We both know you wouldn’t be able to lift me with your crappy back. And knees. And whatever else is falling apart on you,” Frankie smiles, unfazed.

“How’s it going, ladies? Finding some good talking points?” Shelly asks brightly.

Grace turns and glares but Frankie meets her smile and returns it tenfold. “My Grace here is feeling a bit under the weather but humored me in coming to this tonight. She’s struggling a bit, if I may divulge. Is that okay, _honey_?” Frankie emphasizes the last word, a pet name that scrapes along Grace as it settles in the air.

“Oh, no. Let’s think about this, Grace. There has to be something you’ve held back from Frankie here. Something buried so deep in you that you haven’t even voiced it to her. Tell her what she means to you,” Shelly encourages.

Normality is ripped away, leaving a jagged page clinging on. She’s been backed in a corner but instead of her hackles being raised, she feels horribly exposed. It’s like she’s meeting Frankie’s eyes all over again from across a crowded room while Babe grins from ear to ear. Everything aches with foreignness and familiarity, and she’s stumbling. Admission wells up, spills over.

“I used to think I couldn’t be in the same room as you without wanting to pull my hair out. I wanted so badly to get as far away from you as possible,” Grace begins and she can see the hurt and doubt crawling across Frankie’s face that is illuminated by the fire’s light. Shelly looks apprehensive about letting Grace continue as well but she doesn’t interrupt. “I kept telling myself that you were nothing. You’d never been anything to me, so why try? But I was wrong. And I love that I was wrong about you.”

Frankie’s face softens and so do the edges Grace clings to. She can feel them relenting, bending to comfort.

“I love that you pushed me to be different. Challenged me to let go of the person I always thought I was. I didn’t much like that person. I love that you’ve shown me how to not only love others but love myself,” Grace confesses. She stops and notices that during her verbal spewage, Shelly has disappeared leaving only her and Frankie together, gripping one another’s hands tightly.

Maybe the fire and moonlight are playing tricks on her, or it could be age sending mirages across her eyes, but she swears she sees a tear etch its way down Frankie’s face. A whole world.

Everything constricts. All that’s left is the thing that Shelly told them to do, to seal off the declarations with a pureness Grace isn’t sure she can muster. The couples around them are in various stages of the end of the activity, some softly touching their partner's lips in a chaste kiss, some depositing every ounce of love they can into the action.

Turning back to Frankie, intention flares across the other woman’s face and Grace cannot let it happen. It’s too frightening to entertain that this type of life could be beautiful for the two of them…

She leans forward suddenly, a surge of uncalculated movement as she brings her lips to the cool skin of Frankie’s cheek. Lingering, she closes her eyes and just feels. What feels like hours but surely is only a few seconds ticks by and Grace disconnects slowly. They’re inches apart, so close. A feeling rises in Grace. _I want to kiss her I think._ Just as she settles on an idea, Frankie jolts out of her stupor and Grace jumps back.

“I’ve got to get the fuck outta here,” Frankie blurts, and rises in a fury of fabric and static energy.

She leaves Grace on her knees, hollow and smarting. Unsure of what just happened again, something indescribable rearing it’s confusing head.

**********************

Dawn beats through the window and Grace wearily opens an eye. Her soul feels heavy and she doesn’t want to move. She’d be fine burying herself under the covers for the rest of the retreat if it weren’t 90 degrees outside by the end of the day.

 _Frankie_. She hasn’t seen her since she rushed off in a tizzy. Making the trek back to the cabin had been excruciating for a number of reasons, most of them having nothing to do with physicality and all with emotion.

“So are you still pissed at me?” a voice sounds from the doorway. Grace rises on an elbow to see Frankie standing at the cusp, wanting an invite in, no doubt. She jerks her head toward the other side of the room as the offering and face plants again.

Shuffling noises occur and Grace can hear her come to sit in the chair beside the bed.

“How are we going to get through this?” Grace asks, words muffled by the sheets on the bed and her face pressed against them. _This retreat, this awkwardness rising, the rest of our lives_. The ambiguity of it seems appropriate.

“You said something crazy and out there. I’m thinking this puts a check mark in that box,” Frankie muses. Grace bolts up, exasperation flaring.

“When you ran off last night and left me there, I had four sets of women ask me if I needed a shoulder to cry on. They thought you’d dumped me on a romantic lesbian getaway and I couldn’t tell them we were at odds, again. And that we weren’t and most certainly never would be together. In that way,” Grace finishes.

An odd expression floats across Frankie’s face and then morphs into resolve. “Well we’ve got three days left and I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like throwing in the towel on our expense for this little fiasco.”

“Are you suggesting we…” Grace can’t even finish.

“I’m not asking you to have sex with me out in the great wide open to convince them of our gayness or anything. Just fudge the truth a little bit and pretend we’re partners in a different sense of the word.”

The room feels claustrophobic all of a sudden and this is toeing that damn line again, between reason and insanity.

“What would that mean? For us. How would we…?”

“I don’t know. Show up to shit and act like we don’t hate each other? Maybe some hand holding. A little light petting. I could go for putting my arm around you,” Frankie lists.

“Petting? What am I, a fucking labrador?” Grace grumbles.

“Okay, it was just an idea. I didn’t hear you contributing anything, Ms. Incubator for gay ideas.”

Grace shoots her a sharp look, the jab to their last shit show a little too fresh. She shoves that aside and goes back to her line of thought. “If we are going to get through the rest of our time here, we need some ground rules.”

“Ground rules. Right,” Frankie nods. Then makes a confused face. “Meaning what exactly?”

“How far you’re going to go with this little charade, were I to agree to it.”

“Ah, right. Because it’s too much outside of the heteronormative bubble you wrap yourself in.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m fine with gays. In case you forgot, our ex-husband’s are,” Grace reminds.

“Yeah, but every time I joke about doing stuff to you, you about spontaneously combust from sheer horror. I’d hate to encumber the norm of that well-constructed life of yours.”

“Are you saying I couldn’t put on a convincing enough show? Because I assure you, I can.”

Frankie stands from her perch in the chair, taking a step toward the bed where Grace has remained during the argument. “Prove it.” She raises her eyebrows and cocks her head to the side.

Grace gets on her knees in the middle of the bed and inches a little closer to Frankie. “Okay. Maybe I will.” She crosses her arms and answers with a smug look of her own.

“Ohhh, this is gonna be entertaining,” Frankie says with a mischievous grin. “Meet me in 30 at the main lodge’s hot tub. We got an invite from Mae and Nancy. I met them last night as I was having a head clearing joint.” She stops and looks Grace up and down. “And wear something skimpy. We want to convince them we are ladies who run a vibrator business and use them with conviction. Not that our vaginas are clamped shut.”

She pats her shoulder and leaves the room, leaves Grace flabbergasted for the thousandth time. Slowly rising from the bed, she makes her way to the closet, flinging open her suitcase. Various outfits lay tucked neatly. Farther below is the clothing item Frankie requested. It’s not exactly skimpy per say, but it is probably a younger look than is fit for her age.

“Fuck it,” she mutters.

Shedding her old clothes and donning the suit doesn’t take her long and when she approaches the hot tub, she spots Frankie and who she presumes are Mae and Nancy. The pair looks to be in their mid to late fifties and are cozied up against one another, both laughing at something Frankie has said. Grace sees her eyes crinkle in delight at her own words, but they go wide when she sees Grace walking up the short path.

To silence Frankie and her unnerving ability to shrug off everything as if it is nothing, Grace opted for a sheer cover-up. The last word is a bit of a stretch considering it leaves little to the imagination. She’s worked incredibly hard on her body since her younger years, restricted it from indulgence and subjected it to rigor. For the most part, it’s managed to hold up well.

She’d examined herself in the mirror before she left, seen the way her long legs peeked out from the coverlet. The black bikini was probably a little much but seeing how Frankie is raking her eyes over her now, maybe it was worth it.

Putting on a bit of a show, she lets the cover drop and reveal. Frankie lets out a choking sound, trying to recover by taking a quick sip from the glass of wine in her hand. While not her beverage of choice, alcohol is going to be a must to get through however long this is going to last. As she sinks into the water, Grace wraps her fingers around the sweating glass and takes a sip of the sweet beverage while wrapping her arm behind Frankie’s shoulders.

“Hey, babe,” she smiles, more than proud of herself for being a fantastic actress. She leans forward and places a soft kiss on Frankie’s cheek, more steady in the action than the night before. Handing the glass back to Frankie, she puts on her best smile and extends a hand out. “You must be Mae and Nancy. Frankie told me how thrilled she was to make your acquaintance.”

Her heart is hammering in her chest but she can’t let on, can’t let Frankie see her crack under pressure. Especially after assuring her that she could give the best performance of her life. Living with Robert for forty years should have been enough practice for this.

“And you’re Frankie’s partner, Grace,” the smaller of the woman says, green eyes twinkling. “I’m Mae and this is my ball and chain.” She points to Nancy, who laughs heartily and runs a hand through her silver-streaked brown hair.

“She loves me though,” Nancy shoots back playfully, giving Mae a nudge. Mae answers by leaning over and pressing a sensual kiss to Nancy’s lips.

Grace feels like a complete outsider, a voyeur watching something meant for the privacy of one’s own quarters. Public displays of affection have never been her thing. Ever. As if sensing her thoughts, Frankie’s hand connects with Grace’s thigh under the bubbling water. Quickly turning to her, Grace can’t speak but asks with her eyes what Frankie is doing.

“So how long have the two of you been together?” Mae asks.

Grace can’t focus, Frankie’s hand immobile on her skin below the surface the only thing she can think of.

“We found each other later in life. Officially, over two years,” Frankie answers. Not a complete lie, telling them how long they’ve been in the beach house together.

 _And I hated her for at least the first six months of those two plus years_ , Grace wants to say. Doesn’t. Instead, plasters on another fake grin. “Best time of my life,” Grace adds. In order to distract, she decides to find something else to busy herself with. After all, it’s Frankie who got them into this mess. She can talk them both out of it.

While the rest of the group converses, Grace takes to creating ways to make Frankie squirm with uncomfortable energy. She retracts her hand a bit from around her, let’s it brush Frankie’s hair to the side as she runs a finger delicately along her neck. She alternates between scratching and tickling. With each stroke of her hand, Frankie seems to sink lower in the tub.

“Can we get you ladies another drink? Maybe a mid-morning mimosa?” Nancy asks, standing and reaching for Mae’s hand.

“Oh, that’d be lovely,” Grace answers, continues to draw patterns on Frankie’s hairline until Mae and Nancy are out of sight. Frankie turns suddenly and sloshes a bit of water out from the tub.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she all but squeaks, and backs a little away from Grace’s proximity.

“Playing my part,” Grace sighs tiredly. She shakes her head and leans it back, gazing upward at the clear blue sky.

“Yeah, but you’re not supposed to make it feel so good.”

Moving too quickly, she jars her neck. Wincing, she takes to massaging her own instead of Frankie’s. “You’re the one that said to make it convincing. I’m only doing what you said.”

“No, don’t pin this on me. Admit it. You get off on the idea of people watching you, wondering what you’re going to do next. You’re doing it to me, right this very second. I mean, look at you. In a bikini, for God’s sake.”

Usually on the opposite end of receiving, Grace isn’t so sure of what to do with this glaring critique of herself. Men have always fawned over her, invited her into their beds with lustful abandon. Frankie is calling her bullshit squarely.

“This is going to sound friggin crazy and ridiculous, but…” Frankie tapers off. Looks down at the bubbling water like she can see through it. Grace can feel her ringing her hands, even if they are hidden. “You’re making me feel shit I shouldn’t be feeling, Grace.”

“Frankie,” Grace breathes. The words stun. The only sound filling the air is the pump creating frothy bubbles in the water. They stare at one another, not faltering. Something rogue ignites, beats lower in Grace than she knew she was capable of feeling.

Frankie slides a little closer, lets her own arm snake behind Grace in a mirror of earlier actions. “I think...I think I want to kiss you. Not on the cheek or anywhere safe. I want it to be wild enough that we either never do it again because it’s super weird or that it’s so amazing we never stop.”

She stares intently at Grace and her heart flutters, mouth agape and not knowing what to say. Before she can think about what she’s doing, she leans a little closer to Frankie, whose lips are right there. Mere centimeters away and she will be kissing her best friend, will be doing something that makes her the exact opposite of straight.

“Fresh mimosas, coming right up!” Mae announces.

Grace jumps back a bit from Frankie, reality kicking her in the stomach. The two ladies both hold conspiratorial smiles as they dip back into the hot tub. Handing both of them a glass, Nancy shoots Grace a look. “Hope we aren’t interrupting something.”

“Oh, no. Nothing we haven’t already done a million times before,” Frankie waves off, takes a bigger gulp from her drink than normal. She’s not the one to imbibe in alcohol the way Grace does, so clearly all of this is unsettling her too.

“Right, a million times,” Grace nods. Her voice lacks conviction and she hopes the women across from them can’t hear it in her tone.

*******************

Grace watches as Frankie paces back and forth, muttering to herself. They’re back to their spots before they left, her sitting on the bed, watching.

After the hot tub, they’d had a rather silent walk back to the cabin. Every so often, she’d feel confident enough to steal a glance in Frankie’s direction who mostly stared at her feet and wobbled every now and again. Her four mimosas and glasses of wine were having an effect. At one particular stumble, Frankie had grumbled “I’ve had less practice being drunk. But if you challenged me to a smoke off, I know I’d win between the two of us.”

Grace had taken her by the elbow then to steady her. She’d offered no comment on the situation, unsure herself of what to say.

Now, Frankie runs a hand through her hair wildly. Turning, she looks at Grace for a few seconds before depositing herself on the bed next to her. Grace has yet to change out of her bathing suit and coverup, watching Frankie work between her thoughts out loud.

“I meant what I said in the hot tub, so don’t for a second think that’s changed,” Frankie points, a serious expression taking up her visage.

“Okay,” Grace nods, waits.

“And maybe this pretending thing has gotten me all worked up because I’m not finding it one bit hilarious that I have to act like we are together.”

“Oh,” Grace responds, feeling a little like she’s been smacked in the jaw. Frankie picks up on the wandering thought and grabs her hand on the cool sheets.

“It’s not funny because I don’t know how I’m going to keep my hands off of you for the next two and a half days.”

Oh.

“And if I’m going to get through this and not do something incredibly stupid, we need practice being affectionate in public. Decide how much of a “show”...” she uses her fingers to create air quotes, “...we want to put on. So let’s practice. Tell me what’s okay. Tell me what’s too far and too much. You’ve got to be the one because I have no idea where I’m supposed to stop with this.”

“How am I supposed to know?” Grace asks, flustered. Is the heat being jacked up in the room?

“You know, what you’re comfortable with. With me,” Frankie motions to herself.

“Not really, no. You and I have weirdly blurry boundaries. I mean, you want to hold conversations while I’m in the bathtub.”

“Alright, so how about this. I just start doing some things, to you, and you tell me when to hold up. Pick a safe word.”

“A safe word…”

“Yeah, something to stomp on the brakes, throw a bucket of cold water on me. Mine would be ‘ganja’.”

“Obviously,” Grace rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“Yeah, so what’s yours going to be?”

“How about just trust that I know when to stop something I feel uncomfortable with. I’ve had enough experience with that in my life, God knows.” Frankie makes a face. “What?”

“I worry that you give too much in order to please others sometimes. I mean, look at Robert. Then there was Guy. I don’t want you to fall into old habits with me. I don’t want to be like that to you.”

If this is the direction all of this is going, she can’t take it. Rising from the bed, she feels animosity bubble at the subject matter.

“This was supposed to be about us and if you think for one second I’m going to sit here and listen to your commentary on my lack of a love life, I won’t put up with it.”

It’s the last thing she gets to say because then the ground caves in or opens up or whatever other ridiculous metaphor people use for moments of surprise and wonder.

Frankie has leaned in and grabbed her by the waist, bringing them flush against one another. Grace inhales, doesn’t know where to put her hands, looks down between them instead of in Frankie’s eyes where there is everything.

“Grace, look at me.”

So she does and feels fear spike hard. Her left hand rests on Frankie’s shoulder, the other around her waist and it’s this fight she’s been having with herself the second it was suggested they act like anything other than what they are.

“It’s different here,” Grace whispers. “Out there, I put on a show because none of them are going to see us again. But here, Frankie? This could change everything. You and I? We can’t run from each other.”

“I’m not running,” Frankie assures, then swoops in to claim. Her lips take Grace’s against them and graze heat onto her skin.

The hand that was on Frankie’s hip migrates as the kiss goes from tentative to intentional, to deep and fervent. She pushes her palms into Frankie’s shoulder blades, being a more willing participant than she ever imagined she could be with another person. And that speech she’d given herself about not being attracted to women? It feels asinine because she’s most definitely experiencing something with Frankie.

She believes in only giving a little to begin with at the start of a kiss, to leave some mystery about the connection and where it could go. The fact that this escalated so quickly, sending her brain synapses misfiring, scares the shit out of her but it feels so damn good. For that reason alone, brakes are hard to find.

Using the palms on Frankie’s shoulders, she pushes back on her body to separate them and seek air again. It comes in shallow puffs. “That was, uh...thorough,” she somehow manages to get out.

“We probably should tone it down. Out there,” Frankie tries to clarify. “I mean, it’s not like we’ll need to rush back here to do that after we do a safer kiss in public, right?”

If the continuous pulsating between her legs is any indication, she’ll need to rush back and do a lot more than the kiss they just shared. Silently, she reminds herself that this isn’t the way she gets to think as far as the parameters of their relationship go. Or her interactions with females in general. Whatever is happening, maybe it’s solely tied to Frankie. It has to be that, can’t be anything else. Right?

“Right,” she agrees, but to Frankie’s question or her own, she isn’t sure.

“What about touching you. Where would it be okay to put my hands?” Frankie asks, gaze looking down between their bodies.

 _Anywhere_ floats through Grace’s brain, the thought of taking Frankie’s hand and bringing it to her body where she’s all heat and sensuality.

“Not the two places you can probably figure out for yourself,” Grace admits rather sheepishly. “That would be too much.”

She feels Frankie’s hand on her sides descend, languidly dipping lower and behind. Frankie’s fingers come together to form a palm and she gently holds Grace’s posterior in it.

“Is this too much?” Frankie asks, rather quietly.  Her voice has a crack in it, like glass fracturing.

Grace’s own control is doing much the same thing, the days of not being touched becoming so distinct. She tells herself that it’s because of this that she’s indulging, simply. Another niggling little tap somewhere more off the beaten path says otherwise.

“It’s different,” Grace says, but then adds “but not in a bad way.” She has to bite her lip after the sentence because Frankie is gently rubbing and while it’s super weird, it’s kind of nice too.

It’s then that she realizes there aren’t many boundaries to test, considering they’ve always had an unconventional friendship. They already hold hands, hug, and have held each other. Now kissing has been added, so what’s left to try?

Frankie’s hands go back to Grace’s hips, settling. It’s supposed to be a safer place for them to be but after everything that’s happened, it still feels like a lot.

“What do you want me to do to you?” The question is heavy handed. Before it’s answered, Grace can already anticipate the response.

“So much. God, you have no idea,” Frankie says with a shake of her head. Like she’s trying to dislodge her thoughts before they get the better of her.

Frankie is looking at her like the moon and the stars hang in Grace’s honor. It’s that loyalty, that appreciation, that can’t be ignored. As she leans in, Grace notices the startling blue of Frankie's eyes, how they’re almost turquoise in the light filtering through the window into the room.

It’s everything. Completely fucking everything that makes her kiss Frankie again, without directive or askance. It’s her mouth touching Frankie’s because she, Grace Hanson, wants to kiss her after all of the playful touches and flirting and jokes and pretending that they’re an item when they actually aren’t. She kisses her because nothing makes any sense in her mind or her heart, just that she knows doing this will make her feel.

She moves her lips, takes more than was offered. Her hand slowly traces the curve of Frankie’s face, tests itself in the strands of her hair. She doesn’t explain herself, doesn’t utter the why. Frankie seems astounded, the pattern of their relationship shattered by Grace responding to a whim coursing throughout her body.

The hardest thing to do is pull away. Somehow, Grace manages. Frankie’s eyes remain closed and Grace lets out a sigh.

“What was that for?” Frankie asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” Grace answers honestly.

They both stand holding each other, without words. Something shifts and Grace pulls Frankie closer, kisses her forehead, holds her in a tight hug. Discovery and fruition shouldn’t feel like guilt regret.

********************

Longing is a particularly troublesome thing to navigate. Teetering between putting on the breaks and giving herself over to Frankie, Grace had stepped away. Given some flimsy excuse of signing up for a workout session that Frankie wouldn’t have wanted to attend.

Knee deep in the lie, she felt as though she had to make it become reality. Donning her yoga pants and a tank, she’d walked to the area where she had seen mention of the activity. Several familiar faces had spoken to her, inquired as to where Frankie was.

“This isn’t really her thing. She’s more of a free-spirited roamer than organized exercise kind of person,” Grace had smiled, missing the presence of the woman who was becoming harder and harder to resist.

The instructor leads the group through the poses, Grace’s body following the motions but her own mind was off roaming too. Frankie had said she wasn’t running but as the hours stack and fade, Grace knows that is exactly what she’s done. She intentionally stays to herself, avoids Frankie at all costs.

Throughout the daze of needing Frankie but not knowing how to be with Frankie, she watches the happy couples all around her. How they are so at ease with who they are and who they want. They live their lives to the beat of the other person, take solace in the love they receive.

This is when it hits Grace: she could love Frankie. She most certainly wants her. That much she has come to terms with. What kind of life could they have if she were to let go of her insecurities and take some initiative? It’s a serious gamble, the takeaway greater than anything she’s ever known, but the insinuation of loss paralyzes.

The dodging lasts all of a day before it catches up with her. Daydreaming beside the river, she is startled when the voice interrupts her thoughts.

“Let me give you a quick rundown of events, in case you have forgotten,” Frankie begins, staring out across the wooded area. She raises her fingers in effect. “One, I accidentally book us on a lesbian getaway without your knowledge or mine. Two, I make a couple of passes at you like I always do except instead of telling me to buzz off, you indulge me a little in some wild flights of fancy.”

“Frankie, I…”

“Three,” she says a little louder, cutting through Grace’s stammering. “You bring up some intense emotional shit in front of a fire and then I decide we have to ‘fake it till we make it.’ Four, you accost me in a hot tub with your hot bod and then we do some boundary testing making out, only to have you give me a smooch that feels anything but like dipping your toes into water to see if you can handle it for a little while. Last, but not least, you avoid me like I have the plague for a whole fucking day and I try to figure out what I’ve done to make you act like this. Like I’m the bad guy.”

Her tone falters on the last sentence and when she turns to face Grace, every ounce of her features hold melancholy. So much so that she looks like she could burst into tears any minute. Grace feels her own begin to threaten at the corners.

“You kissed me and it pegged me square in the chest. You got my heart involved in all of this. Or maybe I did. Either way, I’m in too deep now.”

“I shouldn’t have,” tumbles out of Grace before she can wrestle it under control. The speaking of it is starting a chain of events she’s too good at, taking the creation and growing of things and ripping them from the ground. She doesn’t get to have beautiful things.

“Don’t you dare…” Frankie croaks, full on tears streaming down her face.

“What do you want me to say?” Grace lets out more forcefully than she planned. Now there’s anguish in her too. It’s bitter and abraded. “My life has been the same for seventy-three years. I go out with men, I get married to them, they divorce me. At no juncture in that life does it say I get to have a woman, that it’s something I would ever want or need.”

“Now you’re just being an asshole. Don’t keep going if it’s going to be in this same, shitty vein.”

“Fine. It’s not like I’d ever get anywhere with you anyway,” Grace mutters and shoves her way past Frankie. As she walks, she rethinks her last words. The ambiguity of their meaning is befitting of whatever is happening at this stupid retreat.

It’s so stupid in fact that she violates one of her rules: doing things in groups with strangers. After looking at the brochure Frankie failed to read in full, she hops on a bus, claims the back seat for herself, and crouches low in order to avoid any of the women who have come to know Frankie and thusly, her by mere mention, as the partner.

What helps is the bus is headed toward alcohol, which she finds herself needing in copious amounts. Down the road a stretch is the winery and while not vodka, it will do in a pinch. Three long miles later, she’s off the vehicle and walking up the dirt pathway to a stone building where the tastings occur. Inside the building has a rustic look, trying to play upon the area in which the building is located. Wooden planks create a pattern on the wall and racks with glasses hanging upside down line the sides. At the bar area, a sommelier has various bottles in a row on the counter and explains each of the vineyards specialties.  

Grace manages to sneak in with a group, sunglasses still on, and tries to look inconspicuous as she essentially does shots of the wine. Swirling and sniffing go by the wayside and she is glad no one is paying her much mind, the women too involved in commenting on the body of the wine or the notes of whatever the fuck or other they can detect.

She doesn’t much stop to register the subtleties, more pressed to consume as much as she can before the place closes for the day. Which isn’t saying a lot because it’s got a five o’clock lockup and while Grace really doesn’t want to be three sheets to the wind that early, there are always exceptions to the rule.

Her shitty day and shitty confrontation with Frankie need to go on the backburner, so she downs the rest of the offerings, then snags her bottle off the counter she has purchased. The room begins to feel claustrophobic with all of them milling about, so she exits to the pergola lined area outside.

Sitting toward the back patio and against the wall like a kid who will never get picked at the school dance, she uncorks her bottle and fills her glass full. Then she drinks. One glass down, on to two. Somewhere between the bottle's contents, she is hunched over and staring at her glass when another bottle is sat down in front of her. Mae and Nancy look sympathetic and offer sad smiles. Without a word, they walk back toward the tasting.

Fucking great. It must be around camp that she and Frankie have been having problems, ones that didn’t exist before they got here. Or did they?  

As tends to be the case with drinking, at least hers anyway, her tolerance level is a lot higher than most so while she’s feeling pretty good, she isn’t forgetting a thing. Even though her body feels fuzzy around the edges and the room kind of tilts, she is remembering all the insane things she’s done that never would have happened in the beach house: playing games where vibrators are the answer, getting couples massages, bearing her soul in front of a fire, unbuttoning her shirt a little more than normal just to fuck with Frankie’s mind, pretending they’re together.

Only, she’s already done all of that other places too. Talking about masturbating in the same room, not contradicting the cop who called her Frankie’s wife, still protesting as Frankie asks questions while she’s in the bathtub, letting her into her bed, dodging directives to “do stuff.”

Hysteria starts to rise in her, made worse by the liquid filling her stomach. All of the events are amassing and a truth is starting to beat with a glaring clarity that she’s tried to ignore when it would whisper in her ear. It’s not the first time. It won’t be the last time either, not as long as Frankie is near.

Which is why, when a hazy Frankie appears in front of her, she loses it. The flowy clothes, the chunky jewelry, the judgemental look: Grace just wants to rip all of it away. To make her not exist for a few minutes so maybe she can just be who she was instead of this person who longs.

“You’re literally the last person I want to see,” Grace growls and takes another drink out of her almost empty glass.

“You might try to be grateful that Mae and Nancy saw you drinking yourself into a stupor and called me to bring you back to the retreat,” the mirage Frankie says. But then Grace feels her hands around her bicep and they’re pulling her up, which is when it all hits her it’s real.

“I can’t go back there with you. There are too many feelings,” Grace whines. She tends to do a lot of that when she drinks.

“And drinking until you pass out is going to change that? Grace, at some point, you and I have to talk about what’s going on.”

“There’s nothing going on! Nothing at all. We’re friends, roommates. That’s it.”

“Says the woman who kissed me…” Frankie mumbles.

“Fine! I did kiss you because you brought me here and I was so upset at first. But the more you asked me to pretend and the more I got involved, it felt good,” Grace gushes. She stands, indignant, and looks Frankie in the eyes. “There, I said it. I fucking liked it. I liked pretending to be your girlfriend and I liked kissing you and you touching me. I liked all of it and that scares the crap out of me.”

“Grace…”

“And maybe that means something about myself. Maybe that means I…” she trails off, the power in what she could say overwhelming. _Maybe it means I belong here. That I really am not separate because we’re the same._ “Why does this getaway keep getting more and more confusing?” Grace asks as she stares down at her feet.

“I don’t know,” Frankie answers honestly. “You asked for a wild weekend. I’d say that by sheer unpredictability alone, it’s hitting all the marks.” She grabs Grace by the shoulders, steadying her. “And I’m not glazing over what you said. I just think we need to have this conversation when you’re, you know, sober.”

She feels herself give up the fight. The thing about obscurities tucked away is that no matter where they’re located, something will always find them and illuminate their being. Grace feels hers have been found. The light will keep on coming.

********************

The night is beautiful and stars burn brightly in the heavens, a sight so foreign when one lives in the city. The air is warm and wraps around Grace’s skin like a blanket at she stares upward from the deck of their cabin. Somewhere in the distance, crickets sing melodies to the campers and temporary residents in the small abodes dotting the tree line.

Her stomach lurches, reminding her that it’s desolate except for the residual intoxicants in her system. The effects have all but worn off, leaving behind shame.

Behind her, the screen door creaks and Frankie walks out. She’s gotten ready for the night, pajamas pants, tee, and housecoat signaling her end of the day.  Her hair is pinned back and Grace marvels at how a woman of their age can still hold so much youth in them.

She sighs heavily aloud as Frankie joins her. The racking guilt starts creeping in again. “I’m sorry, Frankie. I thought I could handle all of this because it meant nothing. I knew I cared for you and you were my best friend but I didn’t know any more than that.”

“Is there more to know?” Frankie asks quizzically. Her tone is light and breaks the tension a little. Grace can’t help but let a small laugh escape. Frankie brings her hand to Grace’s shoulder and rests it there. “Anyway, apology accepted. But truthfully, I hate when you drink. It turns you into a person I don’t know anymore. Next time, just talk to me. I can handle whatever. I’m a big girl.”

“Where do we go from here?” Grace questions. It’s hard to know the trajectory of their lives when it’s all off course and deviating from their norm.

“I wish I had the resolution laid out for you, could wrap it up and tie it with a bow. But I don’t. I’d tell you we can do whatever the fuck we want and fuck whoever we want, even if that means each other.” Grace feels the anxiety begin to claw again and it must show on her face because Frankie continues. “But I know you. I know you’ve lived your entire life based on appearances and denial and I just find it so fucking sad.”

“I spent almost forty years being anything but decent to you. Why now? Why are you willing to wipe it all clean and take a chance…” she feels the lump growing in her throat. “Me screwing it all up. You mean more to me than I realized. More to me than I was willing to admit.”

“Love has a way of changing people,” Frankie says simply and Grace gasps.

“Frankie…”

“I’m here for you. In whatever way you need me or want me. I have been for the last few years. I always will be.” She grabs at Grace’s hand then and they both let their voices still to make room for whatever is growing.

*****************

It’s hard to know what to do in a moment even when you know what’s coming.

The lights are dim, setting up an ambiance that makes Grace feel fuzzy on the inside, something like being cocooned in the alcohol inebriation she sat inside of earlier. She’s used to the dark when this happens, as it has so often in the past. The small slivers of light are enough to show the seriousness etched on Frankie’s face. She has seen versions of this look and knows what happens next.

Men have held more carnality, more alpha tendencies in their goal to claim. They’ve seen Grace as a fragment of who she really is, what she composed of. It’s all infinitely different where Frankie is concerned because she’s seeing it all and still wanting it.

She watches as Frankie eases toward her slowly, looks her right in the eyes before she lets her lips press into Grace’s with a tentativeness and tenderness. It’s a sampling, a taking of only a sliver to see if it’s kicked back after being given.

The room swirls and everything around Grace fades out into nothingness. There is only Frankie and her lips and the feeling attached to having them on her. With a step away, it’s as if retreat is beginning. The mere idea of it stalls Grace’s heart. Now it’s her turn to gaze, to see the person in front of her trying to find her way through a maze of emotion and sensation.

The mind and the body are sometimes fickle things, not working together at all. It’s this echo of an idea that transplants and takes root. In a mind that should be full, it’s eerily quiet. Which is why, when she speaks, it is surprising.

“I’m not running now,” Grace sighs, part apology, part warning.

She gives Frankie a second, maybe even herself, before her hands move forward on their own volition. They cup Frankie’s face and gently tug her back, back to retry.

No longer a sampling, the taste becomes hunger and satiation seesawing for dominance. Gliding and allowing herself to take more than she could have dreamed of wanting, Grace feels a resolution beating thickly in her chest. This getaway, this weekend, this life that she and Frankie have created is suddenly the point of everything.

Initiation belongs to Frankie, but Grace is determined to participate fully in whatever it is that is transpiring. For this reason, she’s letting things garner ardor, letting herself be dragged through the door to the bedroom. They’re old, no two ways about it, so when she falls on the bed and Frankie immediately follows and coheres to Grace’s form, she feels it everywhere. Small pinpoints of pain flare in her lower back and shoulder freeze joints and muscles for a second. What beats hard between her legs scorches it all, makes it so minuscule as to not be a concern.

She wants to find a mirror and ask _Who are you?_ to herself because she’s feeling everything, wanting so badly that it’s almost intangible. Her sexuality has always lacked fluidity, adhering to one and only one type. That’s why everything smears and nothing resembles what it used to.

She should be wrestling with what’s happening but it’s Frankie up there, working at Grace as if “ravage” is the only word in her vocabulary. Grace’s hands continue to be rogue from her mind, moving against all good reason to proceed along the expanse of Frankie lower back to grab palm fulls of her behind. Like it’s the only place her hands have ever belonged.

The collar of her shirt is tugged away from her body, and instantly, Frankie’s mouth is on her. Warm lips fit snuggly to her skin, running along her jutting collarbone. It inches lower still, down her chest and when Frankie reaches her cleavage and the swell of her breasts, she can’t help but yearn for more.

But Grace has never done this, has never been with…

It’s a mental trip, a stagger when it’s all been so fluid up until now. As if sensing this, Frankie brings her head up in a meeting of their eyes. She gives Grace a small smile, made sweeter by the glow all around them. Frankie’s hand traces, ever so lightly, and she lets a deep exhale escape.

“Grace,” she murmurs. The tonality of her name somewhere between awe and appreciation. “I can stop. We can stop. I didn’t know about this place, what it was for. I didn’t come here for this.” She gestures between their bodies and Grace feels like her heart is going to slither away from the pain of rejection.

She grabs onto the sides of Frankie’s arms, looks up at her and tries to think of the right words.

“I didn’t either. But Frankie…”

“I don’t want you to think I’d planned this or that you were being manipulated. You’re the most beautiful creature on God’s green earth to me but I don’t want you thinking you had no say…”

“Please, stop talking,” Grace pleads, letting her hands leave Frankie’s arms and dare to go higher. She lets a finger outline the plump bottom lip, remembering not long ago when it was connected to hers. She all but whimpers at the thought. “If I didn’t want this, I wouldn’t have gotten this far with you. Can’t you see that?”

Frankie ducks her head, shakes it in disbelief or disappointment or some other emotion Grace can’t quite tap. She brings her head back up to connect their eyes, depositing a finger under Frankie’s chin.

“Tell me what to do. I can’t, I can’t…” Frankie repeats, sounding lost.

Grace sits up a little, presses her forehead against the expanse of Frankie’s. Melds their eyes until they bore and strip away. Breathes the same air and takes it into her lungs as hers. “Show me.” It leaves and is gone and delivered. A warm palm cups her right breast, and it’s with great difficulty she realizes she’s deposited Frankie’s hand there.

“Goddamnit…” Frankie wheezes, like oxygen has been knocked from her.

Grace surges up to take, again and again. The hand on her breast leaves and she feels lost without it on her. Cool air curls across skin that was covered only an instant before and she wants to bare Frankie to her completely.

Layers shed, article by article. Skin joins skin, becoming fevered and slick. Feeling like a shot of epinephrine has pegged her square in the chest, everything is intensified in the room: the lighting casting distinct shadows on their bodies, their breathing amplified so that it fills their ears with heavy, lustful noises.

They’re both touching each other in all the places a body can when atop another. Grace has held herself back from going to the place that’s inevitable, the place where she wants to be. She looks into Frankie eyes above her as she lets her hand trace down her body. Never letting go of eye contact, she weaves her hand between them.

When Frankie shifts her hips to allow Grace’s trek to continue, it’s then she knows she’s been given permission. With that, she lets her fingers connect and she gasps at the feeling.

She knows her body, has learned if over the last seventy-three years. There is no part on her that Frankie doesn’t have as well. Her hand takes the bundle of nerves between her fingers and lightly pinches, she’s no longer herself anymore.

There’s a clear picture of herself before and after the act of touching Frankie intimately, hearing her moan Grace’s name. It’s stepping over a line in the sand, a gate being walked through. New sensations might be tingling all of her senses but the act of touching Frankie is greater than the sum of all of those.

There’s a wet stickiness that begins to become more abundant and it’s another facet of a forgotten life unearthing itself. The bygone era of their youth rebounds to the forefront of her mind and for an instant, she feels young again. Almost like she can do anything. Like she and Frankie could have a life made of this, of touching one another and being what the other needs.

“Can I…” she trails off, becoming shy. She wants to say _Can I go inside you_ , but it seems vulgar to ask even though they’re both completely bare on top of one another.

Frankie holds her hand on the side, the only angle she can manage from the position they’re in. No words escape her but she nods, giving Grace more than she’s ever known to crave. With that, she begins to explore. To learn. To know. Taking it slowly, she slips one finger into warmth and it’s gripped by Frankie’s body.

A pant escapes Grace and she can’t stop, won’t. She lets another digit join the first as she comes to know the contours of Frankie’s core. The feel of her is wonderous but Grace has a greediness rise and becomes overwhelming: she wants more.

She removes her fingers slowly and just as she’s about to say this, Frankie lets out a ragged sentence. “You, you’ve felt me. But I need to touch you too. Do you trust me, Grace?” Frankie asks.

The question seems ridiculous to ask because of course she does. With a nod, Frankie removes her body from Grace’s and with her hand, guides Grace up to a sitting position. She’s against the headboard then, back pressing to the wood as she watches Frankie glide down her body to her thighs. Pulling them apart, Frankie settles and then buries.

Her face is mostly hidden then, only a mass of hair and hands visible. It’s this erotic image she sees when she can find it in herself to spare the look. Grace would love to focus on anything other than the ceiling most of the time but this is discovery, of learning and experiencing. One that sends her head back and her eyes closing.

Maybe her life with Frankie has prepared her for this, left her cocooned for long enough to be able to feel good inside of it and come out as more beautiful because of it.

The texture of Frankie's tongue and the movement of her mouth on Grace rearranges the pieces of her life that she thought she had figured out. She knows nothing but this now, of an existence with Frankie on her and with a solid, firm finger, now in her.

It’s a building crescendo that escapes her in waves of euphoric bliss. To give herself over to it leaves her weak, sapped of energy flowing through her veins. When she looks at Frankie, at the gift she’s given to her, she wants nothing more than to deliver the same wrecking upheaval.

She pulls Frankie to be directly above her, turns them on their sides. When she kisses her, a jolt of arousal hits her again at the taste of herself on Frankie’s lips. It should be odd, learning herself like this from someone else. She deepens their connection, latching on as if she’ll be taught all of the secrets of herself with Frankie near.

Grace’s fingers retrace their earlier path. They learn the trail down Frankie’s body and when they slide inside, they make a home in their settlement.

When it’s over, both glued together from the collection of all things great, it doesn’t feel like an end or resolution. It feels like the beginning of something unquantifiable. A life where Grace can feel peace wearing only a smile.

********************

It’s cliche in its simplicity, falling asleep in the arms of a woman whom she never imagined being more than a surface curiosity. The sun rises on their exposed bodies, still clinging to each other. Grace kisses her awake then, so opposite of who she has been before. She lets her hand coast across the rise and fall of the naked skin, fingertips tracing across the valleys of Frankie’s breasts, letting them rest on the peaks. Her mouth glides across them in an encompassing warmth, one that laces Frankie’s fingers through her hair.

The fighting, the conflict, the ignoring. How much more wonderful would it have been to give in to this from the get-go? Grace wrestles with this as she settles between Frankie’s legs and begins an act she’s admittedly dreamed about many times. The taste, the flavor, the sheer experience of it leaves her shaking in her own kind of need. Foregoing that, she moves back up Frankie’s form and holds on to her with their lips together.

Satiation doesn’t come quickly but she has to squash the desire to never leave, to never move. Their life awaits, seven hours and five hundred miles down the road. Grace rests on her elbows, looking down into Frankie’s eyes. What she sees in them doesn’t make the trek back home to normality so uncertain, so hard to figure out how to fit inside of again when she isn’t the same shape she used to be.

“So, I’m a lesbian now,” she says carefully, testing the weightiness of it on her tongue and the impact of it on the air. It’s speaking is a mishmash of question and statement, like it can’t figure out what it could or should be.  

“Oh?” Frankie offers lightly, running her fingers through the blonde strands of Grace’s hair.

“But aren’t we?” It seems like a valid question, considering all that’s transpired.

“I don’t think this retreat has magical powers or anything. You are what you were before you came here,” Frankie tries to explain. “So was I.”

“Before, I wouldn’t have had the courage to…” Grace feels the truth beat hard. She looks into Frankie’s eyes and loses the battle of making eye contact. She burrows her face into Frankie’s neck. The before didn’t have Frankie like this and that is enough to squeeze her chest. “Tell me how to go back to my life with you in it this way now.”

“Here’s the thing, Grace. Our life is what we make it. I’ll still burn sage to rid my aura of negativity and you’ll still gripe about smelling like a brush fire. I’ll drip cheese on my sofa and you’ll tell me I’m not really a vegan at all. The house will have paint and your shower will be used upon occasion by me when I feel like I’m too far away from you and miss everything you are,” Frankie weaves the story of their life. “But now, I’ll ask you to join me in your shower, using the fingers that have painted you onto every blank canvas I can find to wash the ‘brush fire’ off of your body. I’ll fall asleep with you on my couch and in my arms. I’ll be able to press my lips to you in a greeting each morning and as a ‘see you soon’ each night. It will be the best type of life because we will have each other in all of the ways.”

And with a story of that softness and warmth, what does she really have to fear? Grace nods then, not knowing what to expect but ready to face it with their hands holding tightly to one another throughout.

********************

The road trip home is full of miles Grace never wants to forget, the culmination of their getaway changing the dynamic of the voyage. There are no more stilted silences or agitation bouncing around in the interior. There is music and laughter, the sounds of contentment all around.

Touch exists now too. It’s so freeing to be able to reach across and hold Frankie’s hand, to let her own curl at the base of Frankie’s neck and brush along its expanse. At stops, she can’t help but feel the overwhelming urge to kiss Frankie as much as she can before the road beckons to them again. So she does, in front of soda coolers where other patrons can see, on top of the car as they share bits and pieces of snacks, watching the sun settle itself further down below. At one point, even pressing Frankie against the exterior of a random building in a random place, so desperate to be near her and touching her.

It’s weird how the saying ‘hindsight is 20/20’ is absolutely correct. The examination of her life before being open to touch and feel is a revelry she wants to bask in. It’s a flow of life that she wishes she never had to do without.

It’s night when they reach home, the journey taking somewhat longer due to all of the breaks. Sleepily, they open the doors to their home that seems bigger and more warm after all that has happened. Maybe she’s the same person physically, but emotionally, she’s a shell of her former self. Grace is a person who isn’t afraid to initiate a kiss because she needs it on an almost primal level. She isn’t afraid to let everything fall away in the moonlight and let Frankie work her into oblivion. Even more, isn’t afraid to seek solace between the beautifully parted thighs that gently squeeze the sides of her face as it takes to its task in front of it.

They fall asleep a tangle of limbs, rise before daybreak still glued to one another’s skin. Grace pulls Frankie to their spot on the beach, deposits their forms into the sand and curls her toes in the coastline as the waves flow forth and recede, taking any bits of her old self that she had left. She presses her body into Frankie’s and tastes, hovers and grips sand between the palms of her hands that rest on either side.

It would look like a romance novel cover to an outsider, them pushed together in lust and, dare she think it, love. This thought swells inside of Grace and as she feels the warmth of the sun as it inches into the sky, she can’t help but want to give Frankie everything.

“What?” Frankie smiles serenely. Perhaps a bit smug, like she had known this would be the end result from the beginning.

“I’m just…”

“Happy?” Frankie suggests, reaching to rake her lips gently across Grace’s.

Yes. It turns out there is diction for this. The word, even uncomplicated, seems deeper than its surface. Grace smiles, lets the ocean lull them and her mouth connecting to Frankie’s be the answer from her heart.


End file.
